None of it is real; everything is true


When It is revealed, What is mostly desired
What is also usually Simultaneously revealed is an Obstacle:

A broken bridge
A sinking ship
A cock block
The obstacle verifies the significance of It for you

There could be no “It” without >it

Then the Obstacle becomes the obstacle we overcame
As one:


Rolling eyes
No sighs

When faced with Paradox

Here we go again

Paradox so typical
on a Tuesday

Where is Cat
this morning?

Man versus paradox;


Man employs pomegranate to do solve what needs solving,
To release what ought
to be soaring

Paradox versus man

What is aching us
with beauty this morning?

Here we go again


Not the year of equivocation


Not the year of vacillating between two, losing so much, deciding. Not the year of individualism. Of solipsism. Of solitariness.

Not the year of doubt. Of uncertainty. Of hesitation. Not the year of close enough, of Base Camp 1, of the last mile being the hardest mile.

Not the year of exaggerations, enbellishments, flamboyance, lies. Not the year of mafiozos, ratpacks, serial killers, psychos. Not the year of you talking to me, and me not listening to you. Not the year of tears.

Not the year of fears.

Not the year of treachery.

Not the year of deceit.

Not the year of fakes.

Not the year of wannabes.


My body is always one step ahead of me


Everything human continues to overtake me. I imagine this lite malaise is in fact universal. Leaning into a clear page to draw or write is an act of almost meditative coercion, a re-establishing of boundaries between my mind and my demons, as if the art act itself marshalls those demons into sheer creative output. As if to suggest that one ought not struggle against one’s demons but have them work to your advantage. Everything human continues to overtake me. #Sunday #stustustudio


When they find her she will be howling at the moon


What a swirl:
An unfurling
of legends incomplete

or legends repeating
via our contemporary lives:
for example the plight of Socrates

or the night Djuna Barnes
wrote about:
from them both

it is the hemlock of him
and the novel’s protagonist of her
and how it happened

that Socrates should be murdered
for illuminating the youth
and Djuana Barnes’ character

getting on all fours
and barking
at the very ending itself:

But I am not softly considering
endings tonight
Because I am saddened by ultimatums

but rather elated by new beginnings
that are present
and ever present

like dust upon my eyelids
butterfly wings
of pure transformation

of myself in a new space and time:
Where I can
become who I am:

Or rather
who I need to be
In this space and time.


Blue deluxe


Who I was:
I was what was well.


Pushed down a well.

Back up. Out.


Deeply necessary deep ocean

your eyes

Artists: disband


Andy Warhol’s Factory and Damien Hirst’s Factory and Lady Gaga’s Factory of Art Students making art in the name of the Employee Artists in Residence is offensive to everything art purely is and will not have this artist starting sweatshops in the name of decorating rich people’s homes. F*** that.